


These Earthly Pleasures

by localfreak



Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: F/M, Foursome, M/M, Multi, Porn, Possession, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localfreak/pseuds/localfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The missing scene in which the Duke and Duchess fulfill their promise of 'great reward' and Mephistopheles lingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Earthly Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Notes: The recent rendition of the scene quoted at the beginning of this story, was performed at the recent rendition of 'Doctor Fautus' at the Globe, with so much innuendo it was thoroughly lacivious. Thanks to **still_lycoris** for mithering me when I flagged in the writing of it, and also for betaing.
> 
> Additional notes: It has come to my attention some of my fic has been uploaded to a website I do not trust. I would like to make it abundantly clear I do not give permission for my work to be shared on any other website (linking to my fic's URL is fine), or uploaded anywhere without my knowledge and expressed permission. Quite frankly, if I want to upload it somewhere I'll do it myself.

Enter the DUKE OF VANHOLT, the DUCHESS, and FAUSTUS

DUKE. Believe me, Master Doctor, this merriment hath much pleased  
me.

FAUSTUS. My gracious lord, I am glad it contents you so well.  
—But it may be, madam, you take no delight in this. I have heard  
that great-bellied women do long for some dainties or other: what  
is it, madam? tell me, and you shall have it.

DUCHESS. Thanks, good Master Doctor: and, for I see your courteous  
intent to pleasure me, I will not hide from you the thing my heart  
desires; and, were it now summer, as it is January and the dead  
time of the winter, I would desire no better meat than a dish  
of ripe grapes.

FAUSTUS. Alas, madam, that's nothing!—Mephistophilis, be gone.  
[Exit MEPHISTOPHILIS.] Were it a greater thing than this, so it  
would content you, you should have it.

Re-enter MEPHISTOPHILIS with grapes.

Here they be, madam: wilt please you taste on them?

DUKE. Believe me, Master Doctor, this makes me wonder above the  
rest, that being in the dead time of winter and in the month of  
January, how you should come by these grapes.

FAUSTUS. If it like your grace, the year is divided into two  
circles over the whole world, that, when it is here winter with  
us, in the contrary circle it is summer with them, as in India,  
Saba,and farther countries in the east; and by means of a  
swift spirit that I have, I had them brought hither, as you see.  
—How do you like them, madam? be they good?

DUCHESS. Believe me, Master Doctor, they be the best grapes that  
e'er I tasted in my life before.

FAUSTUS. I am glad they content you so, madam.

DUKE. Come, madam, let us in, where you must well reward this  
learned man for the great kindness he hath shewed to you.

DUCHESS. And so I will, my lord; and, whilst I live, rest  
beholding for this courtesy.

FAUSTUS. I humbly thank your grace.

DUKE. Come, Master Doctor, follow us, and receive your reward.

( taken from ‘The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus’ by Christopher Marlowe, from the Quarto of 1604 downloaded from Project Gutenberg 18/9/11 <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/779/779-h/779-h.htm> )  


 

Mephistopheles lingered outside but a moment, as the Duke of Vanholt and his most wanton lady Duchess led Faustus between them within, to receive, as the Duke put it, his great reward.

The peasants, as soon as they had been set free of their temporary petrification, fled like startled squirrels, climbing over the gates and letting out sheepish cries of alarm and confusion. Once secure in the knowledge that there would be no further disturbances at the gate, it was but a simple thing to slide through the lock in the door and pass, like an airy whisper, along the wide corridors of the Duke’s mansion. Faustus’ soul called out to him, bound as it was to his Master Lucifer, and Mephistopheles drew towards the chamber door. A couple of impudent servants listened at the keyhole, but it was plain they could hear nothing of what they knew was within as their faces screwed into amused disappointment and they soon grew tired of their posts.

He could, Mephistopheles supposed, wait patiently without, for Faustus to finish, but-no. The lustful, sinful souls were a warmth to his cold mien. And so, insuring his invisibility would hold even for Faustus himself, Mephistopheles let himself in and found good purchase on a side table from where to observe the carnal actions before him.

And oh, what a feasting sight it was! The Duchess, heavy with her firstborn, reclined upon the cushioned settle in but a thin shift, as her husband busily buried his face between her thighs; his robes abandoned in a tangled heap by the doorway. Faustus, too, had been divested of his garments, all excepting his long shirt which hung open wide at the front as the Duchess applied her sweet mouth unto his cock, with an expression that looked as if she enjoyed the taste of him as much as the grapes she had so lasciviously consumed with him moments before.

Mephistopheles’ eyes were drawn to the way in which Faustus’ lank black hair lay upon his face, even as his hips arched into the warm wetness of the Duchess’ hungry mouth. Faustus’ pale, scholarly chest gasped at the exertions, and his smile was a wide and delighted one as she performed some harlot’s trick to suck the moans from him. The Duke looked up from his own task, young face transformed in hot lustfulness as he ran broad hands upon the rounded belly of his wife, working to divest her of her clothing entirely. Pushing a palm harshly against her sex, he leaned over her to brush the flaxen hair from her face as she was distracted from her task and Faustus’ cock was released from her lips with a delightful trail of saliva in its wake.

Mephistopheles was sympathetic to Faustus’ frustrated cry, but it was but a moment before the Duke helped his Duchess to rise. She pulled Faustus along with them towards a broader space; one could scarce call it a bed but rather, Mephistopheles thought, a nest of some particularly obscene bird, scattered as it were by all manner of cushions and soft fabrics and broad enough for the three to have as ample room as if they remained on the floor. The Duke and Duchess, giggling and laughing like the most innocent of schoolchildren, divested Faust of his remaining shirt, the Duke then content to step back and leave his wife to direct proceedings.

Faustus first was encouraged to lie back upon the bed as the Duchess ravished his mouth with her own and her husband pawed at himself, watching from the bedside with eyes bright as stars. Then, divested of her nightgown, she balanced as best she could over Faust for long moments as he returned her kisses, plying them equally to her mouth and her soft, heavy breasts.

Mephistopheles watched as the Duke, quite at peace with this game, circled the scene like a tiger, unable to resist reaching out here and there; rubbing at his wife’s back and her round bottom, before reaching beneath her. Faustus broke off into a low moan and Mephistopheles crept closer, moving to perch by the wall behind Faustus’ prone form, eager to see what the cause was.

The Duchess, using her husband’s broad strength to aid her balance, and his guiding hands holding her wide, sank bodily down upon Faustus’ erection. Faustus arched his back and made as if to thrust, his cheeks scarlet with the heat that made his skin almost aflame with passion. The Duchess cupped his head, stroking at his cheek and allowing her hands to trail along his bony ribs which stood out far more starkly on the pale scholar’s skin, in contrast to the muscled torso of her husband who even now stood behind her, hands by her thighs as he assisted her balance. She lifted herself smoothly, up and down, groaning and clutching at her own breast as she did so and Faustus, hands clenching and unclenching in the fabrics beneath him, let out great, gasping breaths as if he would die from the sensation; half forming words of poetry, of many languages that fell confused and disjointed from his kiss-plumped lips.

Mephistopheles gazed at the motion, as if in a mesmer as the sweat pooled upon their skin. His eyes took in the vision before him- the Duchess, spread and filled, her husband’s hands rubbing at her even as he helped her ride herself upon Faustus’ cock. She rode him as glorious and wildly as a Sheelagh-na-Gig , her mouth wide as her husband bit and kissed at the long line of her neck.

Presently, tired of the stress upon her legs, the Duchess eased herself onto her side, pulling Faustus’ mouth to her even as she, with thrusts from her hips, pulled at his legs to make him turn and find his way once more to be inside her. Forehead almost pressed against hers he thrust gently, into her; his ink stained hands ghosted upon her warm flesh as if she were made of porcelain. She gasped and gyrated against him, encouraging Faustus’ thrusts as he found a rhythm with them and brought her to let out sobbing, ecstatic cries of her own.  
“Now, my wife, you reward our dear friend most beautifully- but surely I am not to be deprived of expressing my own gratitude also?” murmured the Duke.

Faustus startled out of his motions and stared at the Duke, who placed a broad hand upon his brow, wiping away the lank hair which had stuck in wet strands to his forehead. Mephistopheles, too, found himself unaccountably surprised- in his eagerness in watching the coupling pair, he had not only forgotten the Duke, but had crept closer to the bed so that, were he in corporal form, he would be near enough to reach out and touch them. With a predator’s smile, the Duke leaned over Faustus’ shoulder to plant a hot kiss upon his wife’s flushed cheek, before curling himself bodily around Faustus’ back and biting at the doctor’s shoulder. Faustus gasped and for one moment Mephistopheles wondered at the potential outcomes of this reaction, but soon Faustus found himself, propelled by the Duke’s movements behind him, thrusting once more into the Duchess’ welcoming quim.

The Duke, meanwhile, had produced a pot of some sweet-smelling liquid and was moving those deft hands of his along Faustus’ skinny back and rear, and then slipping between the rutting pair, poured more upon them, which seemed to enhance their pleasures both, as both cried out hungrily. The Duchess threw out one hand for her husband to catch and kiss, sucking her fingers between his lips in some unspoken endearment. Faustus moaned and shuddered as the Duke reclined behind him, thrusting his now oiled member into the crease made by Faustus’ legs and backside. The Duke stretched one clever arm down to rub at Faustus’ hole and insinuate a finger within its clenching tightness, all the while never relinquishing his thrusting motions which drove Faustus’ own rutting deeper into the Duchess.

Faustus, flushed and unsteady in his movements, cried out again, gasping and heaving as he spilled his seed within her waiting body. The Duke slowed his movements slightly, in order to watch the faces of his wife and his guest as they clung in that coital embrace, before Faustus reluctantly pulled out from her body and she, with a sated groan rubbed a gentling hand against her well-used sex.

“My Lord,” she said sleepily, after a few moments observing, like her husband, the bewildered and yet deeply sated expression upon Faustus’ usually pinched mien. She gestured with a hand as if to reach out to finish her husband off before she would allow herself the luxury of rest.  
Mephistopheles, for reasons he preferred not to dwell on, found it easy to slip into the lust addled brain of the Duke- so redolent he was with the most deliciously damning vices: lust, gluttony, pride and so many others- found himself settling his body within this heated human form and, waving the Duke’s arm gently as if it was his own, leant over Faustus to press a chaste kiss to the Duchess.

“No my dear,” Mephistopheles said tenderly, “You must rest yourself from your most delicious exertions and I will give my reward fully to out guest.”

Faustus, who had been sure that, now sated, a brief nap in this luxurious, comforting bed was all that was left of his rewards, gasped as the Duke’s warm hands once more rubbed oil onto his thighs and pulled at his legs until he found himself on his back, legs as wide as any harlot and two thick fingers within him in a place that, until that afternoon, nothing had ever breached. Mephistopheles leaned over Faustus’ wide-eyed form and kissed him hard, harder than the Duke would ever kiss his gentle, wanton wife. She, observing their actions in some surprise but indulgently untroubled, simply caught his eye and smiled upon them both.

Mephistopheles found himself engrossed in the sensation of living. He could feel the gentle ache of the Duke’s muscles and the more intense throb of his dripping cock between his legs. He had often assumed human figure but that was always but an illusion- a weak thing merely to further his purposes in the world of men- but this! This body had nerves and sensations that were quite intoxicating. Faustus’ wet tongue moved against his own in a play of wits and battles that required neither a winner nor any great thought- only feeling. Faustus’ hand shook as he rested one upon the Duke’s broad shoulder and the other trailed to gently touch the shape and contours of the Duke’s own hardness.

Mephistopheles gasped- nearly losing his balance above Faustus- as a pale hand wrapped around him and the sensation pooled in his gut and lower. The need to thrust and rut until he reached the peak of this great pleasure consumed at him and he forwent any gentler play with his fingers, removing them entirely and lifting up Faustus’ legs to better angle his wetted hole for entry.

The breach was slow. Fresh beads of sweat appeared on Faustus’ forehead as Mephistopheles held his legs in a punishingly tight grip, holding him up as he thrust within him. Faustus’ eyes tightened in pain, but this soon smoothed as Mephistopheles found the angle required to bring some pleasurable sensation and setting out a punishing rhythm of thrusts. The Duke’s body, taught and tense as it was after the same delightful show that Mephistopheles had observed, would not last long, but it was enough to have Faustus lust-riddled and gasping beneath him as the Duchess had done not long before. She had occupied herself in stroking Faustus cheek gentling and wetting her lips in a pleased manner every time a groan came from either of them that was louder than a whisper.

Mephistopheles looked down through hooded eyes at Faustus, spread and wanting and gasping beneath him as he felt the pleasure in the Dukes’ body mount and mount until it could rise no more and the Duke came, thrusting hard again inside Faustus’ pliant, bony body.  
As the Duke withdrew from Faustus’ body, gently touching a thumb against that well-used opening and leaning in for kisses from both Faustus and then his wife once again, Mephistopheles withdrew from the Duke and the room; leaving the three to their last few kisses and the requisite sleep that these mortal bodies generally required after such acts.

He was standing in a low archway, near to the main doors of the mansion when, under the mirthful eyes of the servants, who knew all too well the habits of their employers, but pretended discretion for decorum’s sake, Dr Faustus took his polite leave of the pair. Then, with many gracious niceties and “Thank you Master Doctors” and “It’s been a pleasure Master Doctor” and “Thank you your Graces” and so forth, Faustus gathered his belongings.

Mephistopheles, languidly noting the way in which the married pair kept their arms linked together and the soft, seductive way they both looked upon Faustus- as if he were a well-enjoyed meal for a tiger-, could not but help a small smile flicker across his face. If only they knew that their meal had not all been their own- some of it had been quite deliciously poached from their mouths.

Mephistopheles allowed himself a brief moment more, remembering the hot clutch of Faustus’ hands against his arms, the sweet, hungry cries that rose up from him at each thrust. A spirit such as he did not have much time for pleasures of any sort, but, following Faustus out into the harsh, grey world beyond, he wondered at his own desire to have the sport of it again.

“Mephistopheles,” Faust called to him as soon as they were out of range.  
“Yes, Faustus?”  
“Take me home the shortest route would you? And make there be duck for luncheon.”  
Mephistopheles sighed a weary sigh. “Of course it shall be done.”


End file.
